Columnist Dean Juipe: Pro bowling knows its limitations

Dean Juipe

Wednesday, May 5, 1999 | 1:06 a.m.

Dean Juipe's column appears Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. His boxing notebook appears Thursday. Reach him at juipe@lasvegassun.com or 259-4084.

There's a reason they don't charge admission to professional bowling events.

It is, of course, the most obvious of reasons: the ubiquitous bottom line. No one would pay.

Fans dig deep to sit in the top row at most mainstream sporting events, even if it means running the risk of getting hit with a flying tire or piece of shrapnel or deadly debris from a car-race crash.

But bowling is a sport of a different color. It's plaid, or beige.

It's a game that dates from Neanderthal times and it follows the most simplistic of concepts. Set up 10 pins and throw a ball to see if you can knock them down. Do this over and over.

Then do it some more.

The repetition of the process does not attract a huge audience. It wouldn't attract any if spectators were obliged to pay.

True to form, they were getting in free Tuesday at Sam's Town for the second round of the Track KO Punch Doubles women's tournament that concludes today. On the makeshift bleachers behind the lanes that were in use, some 60 people sat transfixed -- or, perhaps, stupefied -- as they contemplated the fact their number was, not coincidentally, the same as their median age.

Panic set in for a moment among the many elder statesmen when one of their own, who had been chewing a candy bar, suddenly dislodged a tooth and had the misfortune of losing it on the floor. As he tried to distinguish it from the carpet's floral pattern, widespread anguish set in.

Luckily he not only found it, he also stumbled upon a wayward button to a coat or winter jacket he said he could make use of at home. Eureka! Instead of crying out "Is there a doctor in the house?" it appeared as if he was ready to holler for a seamstress.

The distraction may or may not have interrupted local star Kim Adler's concentration as she went to a special ball -- retrieved from her carrying case -- in an unsuccessful attempt to convert a 7-9 split in her final frame of who knows what game of the 16 she had to play during the day.

Therein lies one of pro bowling's biggest troubles: They play to qualify for a tournament's finals, yet no one knows the standings at any given minute.

As idiosyncrasies go, that one is especially peculiar.

While bowling is fun for participants, it can be grueling at a pro tournament. With no scoreboards to list who's leading, and with two or three dozen players simultaneously rolling balls at any given time, the atmosphere at all but the stepladder finals might best be described as placidly hectic.

The players provide whatever buzz is in the building, as the audience has split its concentration so many ways it's as if a "No Cheering" sign has been posted. They almost don't dare applaud or express themselves, as there's a reluctance to lavish verbal accolades toward one bowler while another is releasing a ball.

But at least bowling knows its place. It's inoffensive, it's a sport for the masses and there's a beer frame.

It also lets you in free to see its top performers.

In exchange for that consideration, however, it asks something special from its live crowd: Control yourself during the preliminary rounds and raise a ruckus on cue when the finals arrive and the TV cameras are rolling.

Go, and you will be manipulated. Think twice, and you may feel it's a small price to pay.